Dead Ringer
by satan-chillin
Summary: Crowley met quite a lot of human with blackened souls that seemingly oozed out of their person, and Crowley was drawn to them the same way Aziraphale was drawn to tremendous amount of love. It was the human's face. Specifically, the man's appearance that resembled Crowley.


Hell's Kitchen. A fitting name for a city made up of amalgamation of bustling daytime and nighttime of trysts and rendezvous of those of the ill repute.

Cute name, Crowley would say.

He wasn't supposed to be here, in another country away from his ang—frie—whatever. But here he was, swift before Death could arrive to collect a particular soul. If this man even has that.

It was a pull, of sorts, when Crowley had first met him. A single peek of this man's soul was enough to tell Crowley that it would be another point for Below; a huge one if Crowley was to base it from the abysmal view that had seemed to stare right back at him. An easy victory that Crowley didn't even have a hand on.

Though it wasn't that aspect of this man that caught his interest. Crowley met quite a lot of human with blackened souls that seemingly oozed out of their person, and Crowley was drawn to them the same way Aziraphale was drawn to a tremendous amount of love.

It was the human's _face_.

Specifically, the man's appearance that resembled Crowley.

It was a cruel jest from the One Above, to fashion a human's face after Crowley's human appearance.

Perhaps he should be flattered that it was, in all manner of saying by human standards, a despicable man. Crowley was no stranger to a couple of them. He might have whispered to one or two of them throughout history, though he knew he didn't on that one guy with ridiculous moustache and a number of underrated paintings. He went ahead of himself, that guy, and who was Crowley to judge? Though they were mostly like that, he believed, making their own terrible judgment without a demon's meddling. It was funny sometimes.

Crowley arrived at the harbor, watching unnoticed by the humans. The man was creative given how he utilized his ability, Crowley would give him that. He suspected that the human woman who lured the man to get closer must be the same as him, powered, gifted, or whatever the Americans used to define them these days. Crowley's guess was confirmed when the woman lifted the man with ease using a single hand and twisted his neck with the other.

Ah, super strength.

"I was right. Obsession will be your downfall," Crowley said as his way of greeting, sauntering over the man, Kevin Thompson—an incredibly normal name, that—who blearily looked up from his corpse and to Crowley.

Kevin stared at him with utter confusion and contempt upon recognizing their facial similarity.

"You—" He seethed. "Who are you and why do you have my face?"

"Right back at you. I called dibs on this after all." Crowley gestured vaguely at his face.

Kevin sneered. "Tear off your face," he commanded.

Crowley eyed him behind his sunglasses, amused. "In case you missed it, you're already dead." He gave a nod to Kevin's lifeless body. "Besides, I doubt it'll work on me."

"What are you?" Kevin demanded.

"I think the fact that I can see you at the moment should already clue you in."

"You're Death," Kevin stated blandly. "Lovely."

"Better. I'm a demon."

Kevin inclined his head, his attention obviously piqued. "Truly?" A grin formed on his mouth. "Now I feel incredibly special."

"Don't be. You're not the first."

"What does a demon want with me? Oh, wait." Kevin lifted a finger. "I've heard of this before. You're here to offer a deal. You'll bring me back to life in exchange for my soul in eternal damnation afterward."

"Pray tell," Crowley humored him, snapping his fingers to pause the time outside. "What will you do once I bring you back?"

"I'll kill Patsy first, of course. Pretty blonde head, but it's prettier on the ground, brains exploded and all that," Kevin prattled as if reading about the weather. "That's bound to get a reaction from Jessica, don't you think? Now about her, I'm not sure yet. I want to kill her, sure, but that's a tad too easy."

"What happened? She broke your little heart?"

"Nothing little about my heart, I'm afraid."

"Oh, no. Something that isn't there in the first place can't be little. Or big."

Kevin clucked his tongue in warning. "I'll let that slide."

Crowley raised both his hands. "No offense meant."

Kevin waved his hand off. "Anyway. No complaints here about the price, demon. Shall we shake on it?"

It greatly amused Crowley further how ire replaced the arrogance on Kevin's features as Crowley laughed at him, laughed at the audacity of this human to make demands of him.

"Funny how you guys have the notion that all demons are willing to make deals with them—well, not totally wrong there. Unfortunately for you, Kevin, I'm not quite like my lot. I don't offer immortality and all that cliché nonsense. And here I am thinking you were creative with that quaint mind control ability of yours."

Crowley remained unfazed despite the sudden fists clutching his collar. Kevin looked like him down to a T: height, the face—nice to know he would look alright with a five o' clock shadow though any bit of facial hair wasn't Crowley's thing these days—and the accent. They could have been twins, for Go—Sa—_Somebody's_ sake. It was ridiculous.

"What the bloody hell are you even doing here?" Kevin pulled him angrily. "What in the world is your importance for if you're not here to help me? And you call yourself a demon!"

Crowley calmly grasped the hands from his clothes and pried them away with ease. Kevin cradled his wrists to his chest with a pained hiss and a wince.

Crowley might have burned him a little. Absently.

"Let me tell you something, _Kilgrave_." His lips formed a feral smirk, advancing closer when Kevin backed down with slowly. "You don't have to make a deal with a demon to damn your soul. You did a spectacular job of it already. You think your excuse of not being able to experience what was normal is gonna cut it? Don't make me laugh. If there is one thing I morbidly admire about you humans, it's that you bring your own downfall upon yourself. Makes things easier for us demons. Now, what do I do with you, you poor man? I can obliterate your soul before Death even arrive for you, but that will be too easy, no?"

Abject fright clouded Kevin's eyes, and that would have been it for him. Crowley might have been unlike the rest of the Fallen, but he wasn't so different to not find a sense of satisfaction in deriving terror out of people who deserved it.

DEMON.

There was relief at Death's arrival when there shouldn't be, Crowley thought belatedly.

"Hullo," Crowley greeted, suppressing his overwhelming presence that grew past his notice. He was unusually cranky, he realized. Must be the jetlag.

NOT TRYING TO CHEAT A SOUL OUT ME, ARE YOU?

"Nah. Not my thing." Crowley spared the cowering Kevin Thompson a glance. Oddly pathetic. "Just paying this special person a Visit out of curiosity. You see the resemblance, yeah?"

NOT QUITE.

"Fine," Crowley grumbled, crossing his arms. "Easy to point out that you don't have eyes anyway."

If Death got eyebrows, Crowley was sure one of them was raised. AS MUCH AS I LIKE TO CHAT, DEMON, I AM A FEW MINUTES LATE IN MY COLLECTION. NO THANKS TO YOU.

"Alright, alright. Not my intention. Pardon me."

ACCEPTED.

Death swiftly went over to where Kevin was and brought him over to the dark vortex of the abyss and numerous stars that resembled the cosmos. Kevin protested uselessly as Death dragged him firmly to the edge.

"Hypocrite!" Kevin managed to yell at Crowley before getting tossed like a dirty laundry down the chute. There was something comical with the way Death manhandled Kevin.

Death lingered uncharacteristically and addressed Crowley. YOU KNOW THE HUMAN.

"I don't. Guy looked like me, and that's it." Crowley grinned wryly. "Never fancied purple, for one."

He gave Death a mock salute and scrammed. The whole affair was a funny joke of fate he couldn't wait to share later to Aziraphale.

Crowley walked back to the direction he came from and looked forward to his flight home to London. He was itching to return, and in every minute he was away from home and Aziraphale, he was close to slipping into a persona that he wasn't willing to explore fully.

He snapped his fingers and let time continue where it stopped.

All was right again.

* * *

_**fin**_


End file.
